


Truths

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Community: dmhgaprilfools, Developing Relationship, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Ginny Weasley - character, Hermione Granger - character, Humor, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-26
Updated: 2010-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone had little thoughts from time to time, thoughts about how Jacob Blevins' new haircut looked exactly like Teffer's Top-Notch Tonsorial Toupee, which had been just the previous week advertised in the back pages of the Prophet, or thoughts about how Shelly Chapman kept yawning because she'd been up all night, not with a raging head-cold, but with her new intern who had a set of tits that would put Lavender Brown's to shame, or thoughts about how anybody paying more attention to the hair in his ears than to the agenda could just piss off, yes, I mean you, Lawrence Pibbs.</p><p>Everyone had those thoughts.</p><p>But nobody actually said them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truths

Late for her meeting with the head of the Department for Magical Creatures, Hermione Granger grabbed a cup of lukewarm tea from the Ministry canteen, tossed a handful of coins at the cashier, and rushed into the lift. She downed the tea in four quick swallows and crumpled the paper cup into a rubbish bin as she hurried past the thin and harried receptionist. "Morning, Calvin," she said, flicking her fingers in an approximation of a wave. "Hair's looking a bit mussed today, just so you know."

She went to her post cubby and hauled out folders and memos, looking for the notes she'd made regarding today's meeting. The centaurs were in migration, and someone needed to have the routes cleared in Muggle areas. A herd of centaurs crossing the M25 was bound to be noticed, especially considering the traffic jams that usually stopped up that road. A careful arrangement of emergency construction, organized in concert with the Muggle Ministry, along the stretch from Swanley to Sevenoaks would cause delays for the Muggles, but at least the centaurs would be properly protected as they moved to Kemsing Downs for the spring.

"Miss Granger," called Calvin, "you have three messages from Ronald Weasley."

"Tell my ex-husband that he can shove his messages where the Nifflers dig," she mumbled, then cursed as she dropped a handful of flyers, each chattering about an office party, get-together, social, or game night. Only three months since her divorce, and already the vultures were circling. Hermione knelt to pick up the flyers, scraping them into a loose stack, and a pair of highly polished shoes appeared in the circle of her vision.

"Granger, you have a terribly tight skirt and a terribly pert arse. Thank you for showing it off to the entire department."

She sucked in a gasp and looked up, the drawling voice identifying the speaker before she saw his face. His pale, pointed, ferret-like face. "Malfoy." She grabbed up her papers and folders and scrambled to her feet. "Come by to make another attempt at covering up your inadequacies by flashing your gold around? You know the stories are about men with big feet, not big vaults."

Draco glanced down at his shoes, then smiled at her, showing off perfectly straight teeth. "I need the big vaults so I can shoe the big feet. Have to have these custom made."

"Yeah, I bet it's hard to find shoes off the rack when you're looking to cover up paws, ferret." Hermione's eyes widened as Draco drew back. The Transfiguration incident from fourth year was public knowledge, but never publicly spoken of, not by her. She'd seen how much pain he'd been in afterward, heard from Pomfrey how much treatment he'd needed from being bounced off the walls and ceiling of the corridor. Mocking anyone's pain, even Draco Malfoy's pain, wasn't her style. "I'm-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Malfoy. I don't know why I said that."

His eyes narrowed and he stared down his nose at her. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the department. Hermione smacked herself in the forehead with her flyers and went into her office.

\---

The meeting was an absolute disaster. Everything she said came out wrong, and a good half of it was things she'd never intended to say in the first place. _Everyone_ had little thoughts from time to time, thoughts about how Jacob Blevins' new haircut looked exactly like Teffer's Top-Notch Tonsorial Toupee, which had been just the previous week advertised in the back pages of the _Prophet_, or thoughts about how Shelly Chapman kept yawning because she'd been up all night, not with a raging head-cold, but with her new intern who had a set of tits that would put Lavender Brown's to shame, or thoughts about how anybody paying more attention to the hair in his ears than to the agenda could just piss off, yes, I mean you, Lawrence Pibbs.

Everyone had those thoughts.

But nobody actually _said_ them.

Hermione transfigured her desk blotter into a thick pillow, buried her face in it, and let out a scream. What on _earth_ was wrong with her today?

"You know, if you're looking to get fired, there are far easier ways to do it," said a familiar voice, and Hermione looked up to see Ginny peeking around the edge of her office door.

Hermione waved her in. Ginny shut the door and thumped into the visitor's chair as Hermione returned the pillow to blotter state. "The entire Ministry is buzzing," Ginny said, both brows raised. "Seems a certain witch has completely lost control of her tongue. Show up drunk? That's more Zach Smith than Hermione Granger."

"Zach doesn't drink. Not alcohol. He sneaks into Muggle London and buys cold medicine at Boots. Downs it by the bottle. Caught him a year ago. I think he actually likes the flavor, loony sod." Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth and keened in horror as Ginny stared at her. She slumped back into her chair. "Ginny, something's wrong. Something is horribly, horribly wrong. I can't stop myself! Every little thought that pops into my head, every word, _everything_, I say! I called Draco Malfoy a ferret today, right to his face!"

Ginny snorted. "Well, he does look like one."

"He looks like he'd be a dirty shag, actually. Have you seen the size of his feet oh my _god_! Ginny, help!" She drummed her fists on her desk like a frustrated child.

Ginny's forehead wrinkled in thought and she chewed a piece of skin off her bottom lip. "Hmmm. I ... might have an idea." She sat up, folded her hands together primly in her lap, and gave Hermione a solemn look. "Testing. I'm pregnant again."

"There's a shock. Harry says you go down on him so often I'm surprised he had enough sperm to _Ginny_!"

Ginny shrieked with laughter. "I _knew_ it. Has to be. Absolutely has to be. You poor, poor woman."

"What is it? Am I cursed? Did someone hex me on the way to work? If you know what this is, you had better tell me, or I'll let your mother know that you're the one who 'accidentally' set fire to all her yarn so she couldn't make jumpers last year. I was actually looking forward to mine, since Crooks needs a softer bed and those things certainly aren't any good as jumpers, _dammit_." Hermione folded her arms and clamped her mouth shut, her lips folded in between her teeth.

Ginny grinned at her. "It's the first of April. Congratulations, Hermione Granger, you're the Teller of Truths."

\---

Hermione sealed herself in her office after Ginny left, a dozen locking spells put on the door. Teller of Truths. Yet another fine, ancient, wizarding tradition that no one had ever bothered to mention, like why you never stood on the left of the Supreme Mugwump (the sixth one had been ticklish on that side), or how to identify a hag masquerading as a nymph (the pattern of warts).

Once every century, on the first of April, one witch or wizard was struck with a inexplicable, inevitable predilection to speak honestly, about everything. Centuries before, it had been a day where the stickiest, most difficult cases had been tried by the Wizengamot, because the Teller was never wrong, but after the invention of Veritaserum and Pensieves, the Teller's duties had been unnecessary. It had evolved into a position more like a jester than a judge, and everyone waited to see who would get the job when the day rolled around.

"Just my luck it's me this year," Hermione muttered as she tore the feathers off a quill. She wanted to go home. She desperately wanted to go home, but she couldn't bear the thought of running into anyone as she attempted to escape, plus there was just so much paperwork to occupy her. The Ministry seemed to run on a steady fuel of paperwork, and she clung to that. It was entirely possible for her to do her job, she decided, if she stuck to the memos and filing. All she had to do was avoid talking to anyone unless it was absolutely crucial - notes and memos could do most of the talking for her - and as long as she was careful to think everything through before she opened her mouth, she could be sure that anything she said, no matter how true, would not be damaging.

She made a list of appointments and meetings to cancel, a second list of what, precisely, she would be willing to say to anyone if she had to speak, and a third list to write down the thoughts she couldn't permit herself to say aloud. Pretending she was suffering a mild bout of laryngitis would give enough of an explanation for why she needed list one, a firm dedication to getting through the day without trouble explained list two, and no one needed to know about list three.

She temporarily unspelled her door and took a quick peek to make certain the office was cleared before she scurried out with List One clutched in her hand. She thrust it at Calvin, pointed to her throat and pretended to mouth a few words, then turned to rush back into her office. Her focus on the door kept her from seeing anything else. Anyone else. Anyone like Draco Malfoy, who had been standing by the filing cabinets on the wall beside her door, and had moved at just the wrong moment. Hermione ran right into him, and at such speed that she shoved him into her office. They fell in a tangle of limbs and papers, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Hermione pushed up onto her hands and stared at the wizard trapped beneath her. "Is that your wand in your pocket or is your penis happy to see _dammit_!" She rolled off Draco, scrabbled to her feet, and ran to sit behind her desk, a long scroll held up to hide her face. "Get out. Out, out, out. I'm not dealing with anyone else today."

On the floor, Draco remained still for a minute, then stretched and tucked his hands under his head. He crossed his ankles and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know about _happy_, per se, but surprisingly enough, not entirely displeased."

"_Out_, Malfoy!" Hermione dropped the scroll and covered her burning face with both hands, hoping he'd leave quickly so she could chuck a fit in private.

"Just out of curiosity, Granger, why are you asking about my penis?"

"Because you have big feet and long fingers, and Jeremy Stretton calls it the biggest python he's ever had the privilege of spying in the loo." Hermione groaned and thumped her head on her desk, where a quill tangled in her hair. "_Please_ get out."

"I heard you were having babbling problems today," Draco said in a bemused voice. "Looks like they were right. Ten points to the secretarial pool for gossip."

Hermione clamped her mouth shut and rocked her head on the much-abused desk blotter. No power on earth would get her to say another word as long as Draco was in her office. She'd given him enough blackmail material for the next three decades already.

"Granger," Draco called from the floor, the vowels of her name elongated even more than his drawling accent usually made them. "Oh, _Granger_. Tell me something."

Hermione fought to stay silent.

"Talk to me, Granger."

She struggled.

"Gra-a-a-a-anger."

Hermione gripped her hair in both hands and tugged as she sat up to glare at him. "Go away!"

"What's your favorite position?" One slim arm rose to point at the ceiling. "Lest you attempt to wriggle out of the question with semantics, let me clarify. What's your favorite sexual position?"

"You can't really have a favorite when you only ever got to do one." Hermione gave up on the idea of avoiding the question before she even made the attempt. It was clear to her that Draco was going to have a little fun with her little problem, and the easier she made it for him, the less entertaining it would be.

"Ah," Draco said, with a satisfied tone, and he folded his arms under his head again. "Weasel not very creative in the sack, then?"

"He whinged that his arms got tired and it was more comfortable if he laid down."

There was a long moment of silence, then Draco pushed up onto his elbows and looked at her upside down, his head tipped back until his hair almost brushed the floor. "He made you be on top? Every time? Lazy bastard."

"No, he-- well, maybe. Yes. All the time." Hermione sighed and slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "There, you've heard something embarrassing from me, so you've had your jollies. Now get out."

Draco rolled up onto his knees and rose, then gave a low and elegant bow. "If the lady honestly wants that." He went to the door and twisted the knob. Nothing happened but a rattle, and he looked over his shoulder, staring at Hermione with one brow raised.

"Spell-locked," she muttered, remembering the charm she'd put on the door, one designed to seal it as soon as it closed. She'd intended it in case she had to open the door for an emergency and she had to slam it shut quickly. Their staggering fall into the office had triggered the charm.

Draco tipped his head, turned back to the door, and drew his wand. The spell he said was not an unlocking charm, and Hermione gaped at him after she puzzled out the Latin. "You-you-you _ferret_! You just set a timer on that!"

Draco grinned at her. "Yeah," he drawled. "Oopsie. Butterwand. Looks like we're trapped for the next two hours. What _shall_ we talk about?"

\---

"C'mon, Granger, how old?"

"Shut up."

"You know you're going to tell me. You're just making it worse on yourself. How old?"

Hermione sighed and wrapped her hair up in a bun, the denuded quill shoved through it all to hold the mass in place. "Seventeen, all right?"

"Good _god_." Draco's expression was the most horrified she'd ever seen him, even more than when George Weasley had got completely trashed at the Christmas party two years previous and mistaken him for Angelina.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "I was busy. How old were _you_?"

"Er."

"Malfoy."

"Well, that's--"

Hermione grinned, then leaned across her desk and lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. "I'll tell you what Pansy Parkinson said about your ... wand."

"Nineteen."

"Ha!"

"I was busy. What did Parkinson say?"

"Ten inches, reasonably springy."

Draco smirked. "Oh _real_\--"

"Unicorn core."

Draco stared. "...Pardon?"

Peals of laughter rolled through the room and Hermione had to wipe tears from her eyes. "Your _wand_, Malfoy."

Draco sulked.

\---

Every question Draco asked her seemed to have something to do with sex, even the ones that started innocuously. The sneaky snake learned more about her intimate, private life than she'd thought she'd known, and Hermione gave up on being embarrassed early on. It was pointless. She kept her eye on her watch, waiting for the time to count down so Draco's spell would dissolve and the door would unlock.

Near the end, Draco ran out of questions, and he sprawled on the sofa she used for working-late naps. "Time's almost up," she told him as she rose to stretch her legs, cramped from sitting for too long. "Can't wait to get you out of here."

He looked at her silently, stared at her without blinking for what felt like several minutes. Hermione squirmed under his gaze, and Draco tipped his head away. "Still feeling the burning urge to tell the truth?" he asked.

Hermione thought the question sounded less casual than he'd intended it to sound. Something about the stiff way he held his body on the sofa, maybe. "Yes, unfortunately."

Draco swore under his breath and sat up, both hands shoved into his hair. "Great. Brilliant."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I'd have thought you'd be itching to run off and tell the entire Ministry that I can have an orgasm just by having my nipples sucked. Or any of the other three hundred sex secrets you've dragged out of me today. Didn't you lock that door on purpose just to be an arse?"

Draco's hands dropped to dangle between his knees and he looked at the floor. With a sigh, he shook his head. "No. That wasn't the reason I did that."

Hermione folded her arms over her chest and stared at him. "Do you expect me to believe you?"

"Not really, but it is the truth." Draco leaned back in the sofa and extended his legs, the heel of one shoe propped on the toe of the other. "Look, if you're still under the Teller charm, it's a much better idea if you keep that door locked and let me continue to irritate you until it goes away. That was rather the point of this all along."

She wrinkled her nose in confusion, and Draco rolled his eyes. "Thought you were the clever one. Granger, it's impossible for you to tell a lie today. In fact, you're so determined to tell the truth that you say it even when you really, truly do not want to. You just proved that over the past two hours by telling me everything about your sex life, solely because I asked. I ran into Ginny Weasley before I came in here, and she was halfway to giddy that you'd become the Teller of Truths for this century's round. I knew just how dangerous that could get for you. Piss off everyone you know, risk getting fired, definitely fuck up your centaur plans and that promotion I know you've been aiming for since your divorce. It's funny for a little while, but by the end, everyone's angry."

He gestured around the room, then slumped and tipped his head back against the wall. "Figured it was better that you spend the day, in here, getting angry at me, since I'm not one of your friends or a co-worker you even vaguely like. Better that nobody else had a chance to ask you a huge list of embarrassing questions. Normal arse-like behavior for me, only to be expected, and nobody would believe a word I said about what you told me here, just because I'm me."

It was the most he'd spoken since the door had been sealed, the most that wasn't questions about her bra size or if she'd ever shagged in public, and Hermione found herself openly gaping at him. "I'm ... confused. Why-why-why would you do this?"

"I owe you."

The words were so quiet she thought she might not have heard them correctly, and Hermione sat down on the sofa beside Draco. "Why?"

It took him a minute to answer her, and his eyes closed as he spoke. "I owe you. I was a serious prick to you in school, and during all the, er. All the war stuff. And you still stood up and testified on my behalf at my trial. It was one of the most selfless things I've seen anyone do, and I've been wanting to find a way to thank you for it ever since. Found my chance today, and I took it. Until the Teller charm wears off, you'd be better off to stick with me, then we can forget about it."

The door clicked and swung open, but Hermione ignored it. "Thank you," she said in a soft voice. She leaned over and kissed him, trying to make it a quick gesture of appreciation, but she'd forgotten that Draco had been a Seeker and still held that speed.

He startled at the touch of her lips to his, and he reacted before she could blink, grabbing her and jerking her into his lap. "What the hell?" he asked, brows knotted as he stared down at her sprawled across his thighs. "What was that for?"

"I, er. I wanted to? You might have gone about it in a completely bizarre fashion, and nobody but you would possibly understand the logic of it, but in your own, odd, Malfoy way, you were trying to do something nice, and I appreciate it. Plus I think you're cute when you're not sneering and I'm curious if Jeremy was telling the truth." She wriggled on his lap and chuckled when he grunted. "Looks like he might have been right. Suppose I should ask for some proof."

Draco put his hand over her mouth. "Stop talking before you get yourself into trouble. You're still the Teller." She nodded and clamped her lips shut as he removed his hand. "All right, decision time. Either you hide in your office until this wears off, and risk someone getting in here while I'm asking if you've ever taken it up the a--"

"Nope, but I'm willing."

"Shut _up_, Granger." Draco pushed her onto the sofa and stood up. Hermione pretended not to notice that he turned away to surreptitiously adjust his trousers. "Right. Either you hide in here, or we pull a classic Malfoy move."

Hermione raised her brows at him, and Draco grinned. "We run away."

\---

They made it all the way to the Atrium without having to stop to talk to anyone. Draco was a natural at slinking through the corridors and past offices without encountering a single person. They were only steps from the exit when a voice called after them.

"Hermione, where are you going? Who are you -- is that _Malfoy_?"

Hermione swore under her breath. Just when she'd thought she was going to make it through the day, with Draco's bewildering help, along came a Weasley. She turned and gave a bright smile to Ginny, who was staring at them with eyes so wide Hermione suspected they hurt. "Yes," she said, examining her words carefully before she said them. "That's Malfoy."

"What _is_ going on?" Ginny glared at Draco, her arms folded under her breasts. She tapped one foot and for a moment looked so much like Molly that Hermione wanted to giggle.

The effort required to keep from laughing loosened her tongue, and she blurted before she could stop herself. "I spent the day with Draco and now we're running away together, oh my _god_\--"

Draco howled with laughter and hauled her into the Floo as Ginny gaped after them. The roar of the flames didn't quite manage to cover up Hermione's protests ("Draco, I can't believe you let me say that!"), and she was still babbling as they spun out of the Floo. ("Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm going to be in?") She only had enough time to notice that they were in a sparsely-furnished room ("I have to go back, I have to explain myself!") before Draco wrapped his arms around her and Apparated. ("_Malfoy_!")

They landed in a beautiful clearing ("Malfoy, where the hell are we?"), near a wide pool of rippling water, with birdsong surrounding them. Draco kept his arms around her, even as she pounded on his chest and demanded he take her back to the Ministry. After a minute of cursing, she sighed and slumped in his arms, then thumped her head on his chest. "Draco, I just told my best friend that I was running away with you. That's going to _really_ ... well, that's really going to aggravate some people, let's put it that way."

Draco laughed and released her, sauntering away to pick up some pebbles from the edge of the water and toss them into the pool. "Aggravate some people? Granger, I think the Teller business is wearing off, if that's all you can say." A pair of long-necked swans emerged from the cattails and tall grasses at the far end of the pool, swimming side by side, heads craned to examine the stranger who'd disturbed their home. "I think it's more than going to aggravate them. I think it will send them right around the twist. The entire Weasley clan and every Gryffindor in the world. Living or dead."

"Probably." She joined him at the edge of the pool and sank down to curl her arms around her shins. She rested her cheek on her knees. "So what do we do from here? What do _I_ do?"

"Nothing for now." Draco tossed another pebble, then dropped to the grass beside her. He stretched out, propped on one elbow facing her, looking as comfortable sprawled on the ground as he did behind a desk or strutting about the Ministry. "We wait until your little problem goes away, and maybe we take a trip into the village nearby and grab some food for a picnic or something."

"I'm not spending the entire night out here with you, Malfoy," she muttered. "I have explanations to give. People to calm. Situations to salvage."

"Anything that you feel you need to do is something you can do tomorrow. _After_ you can tell a lie again." Draco shook his fringe out of his eyes and raised a brow. "Unless you are really in the mood to tell all your friends that you spent a few hours with me talking about sex and then you kissed me."

Hermione sighed. She hated to admit it, but he was right. If Ginny or any of her friends asked exactly what she'd been doing with Draco all day, and why she'd run off with him, she'd be forced to be honest. She needed to wait until tomorrow before she could come up with an appropriate excuse. Before she could tell a good story rather than tell the truth.

And really, Draco wasn't such bad company, when he wasn't being a prat. It had to be true. She couldn't even lie to herself today.

Draco rolled to his back and tucked his hands under his head as he stared at the sky. "So, nobody knows where we are, nobody can hunt you down and demand any answers that you might not want to tell. Except for me, and you should be used to that by now." He was silent for a long while, and Hermione was about to think he'd fallen asleep, then she saw his profile shift as his mouth curved into a grin. "I'm curious, Granger. Did you get it out of your system, or do you want to kiss me again?"

"Malfoy!"

She shouldn't have felt warmth spreading through her at the sound of his laugh. Hermione rolled her eyes and plucked a handful of grass, then threw it at him. "You are such a prat," she muttered.

"A prat with an incredible python, according to Mister Stretton. And a cute one, according to you. Cute prat, that is. Though I've been told my python isn't bad-looking, either."

"You just had to remember that, didn't you?" She shifted over to look down directly in his face, grinning despite herself at the blades of grass in his hair. "Yes, a cute one, according to me. And yes, I do want to kiss you again. I think it's probably a bad idea, though."

"Why?" He looked up at her, the grin fading away.

"Because ... you're you. And I'm me. And we have ... history. Too much history. Very bad history."

"People who obsess over the past are incapable of changing to grow for the future, to make a brighter and new tomorrow."

Hermione blinked at him. He was quoting. Quoting _her_. Quoting a speech she'd given at the annual charity banquet the previous year. No one remembered her speech. No one had _listened_ to her speech. Except he had, apparently. He'd listened. He'd remembered.

That was ridiculously attractive.

Hermione made a disbelieving sound and ducked down to kiss him. The position was awkward, her hair got in the way, and their noses were bent against each other, but it was an incredible kiss.

She lifted her head and bit her lip. "All right, there. Kissed you again. All better now."

He slipped one hand up around the back of her neck and took a deep breath. "That enough for you?"

Hermione watched his face, looked into those silver eyes, and told the truth. "No." She shook her head and pulled his hand away from her neck, but didn't let go of it. "No, it's not enough. It's still a bad idea."

Disappointment flashed through his eyes, but he closed them before she could catch more than that flash. "Must be. You can't lie right now. So, uh. So, no problem. I understand." He cleared his throat and shrugged against the grass. "So, I'll just take you home, then, and you can let this wear off by yourself, yeah? Probably better that way."

"I said it was a bad idea, Draco. Not that I might not be interested." She smiled and bent to hover over his face. "I've given in to a lot of bad ideas in my time."

"Right." Draco smiled up at her and tipped his head. "In that case, I have another question for you."

"You haven't asked me everything under the sun already today?" Hermione huffed as Draco raised one brow. "Fine. Go ahead."

"Will you kiss me again?"


End file.
